


your mess is mine

by everythingislove (straykid)



Series: here comes the dawn [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:59:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straykid/pseuds/everythingislove
Summary: The five times Isak makes amends for his mistakes, and the one time he doesn't have to.





	your mess is mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellamysblakes (puddingandpie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingandpie/gifts).



> this fic would not be complete without josie, so i'd like to say a massive thank you to her. she gave me ideas, motivation, and helped me through the writing process. she's The Best™. also, just a quick note: this isn't written in chronological order. the last scene actually takes place first, but it's at the end with purpose.
> 
> i highly recommend that you read the first work in this series before reading this one, as this fic won't make much sense otherwise.
> 
> (tw's are included in the end notes!)

i. magnus and mahdi

The text was still sitting on his phone when he woke up; those three words that had been taunting him since his phone had originally pinged the previous night.

_Wanna hang out?_

It was from Magnus, yet another one of his attempts to reach out to Isak. He had been blowing off the boys since their (possible) reconciliation at lunch two weeks prior—yet Magnus continued his efforts in convincing Isak to chill with them again.

But this was the first time he had actually thought about saying yes.

He’s not sure what it is about today that finally gives him the strength and confidence to do it, but there’s a spark of yearning for old times brewing,

He reaches for his phone, forcing himself to type the response before he can back out again.

_sure, just lmk what time_

-

Magnus and Mahdi are smoking when Isak arrives.

It’s not as though Isak cares that they're smoking, but he does care about the inevitable offer to join them. A year ago, he would have agreed in a heartbeat, but things have changed and he’s not that person anymore.

They settle into comfortable small talk, with Magnus prattling on about his latest fabricated sex adventures, and Isak starts to think that things will be fine.

Then Mahdi glances between the joint and him, and Isak’s stomach drops because he knows what’s coming.

“Want a drag?” Mahdi asks, offering out the joint to Isak.

Isak swallows, shaking his head slowly. “I don't smoke,” he says, “but thanks.”

“What the fuck?” Magnus frowns at him. “Bullshit. You used to smoke all the time.”

“I used to, yeah,” Isak shrugs timidly, “but I don't anymore. I can't.”

“When did you become such a good boy?” Mahdi raises his brows, raising the joint to his own lips instead.

Isak sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, studying his semi-stoned friends. “I can't smoke because it fucks with my medications.”

“Medications?” Magnus not-so-subtly scoots away from him. “Are you sick? I don't want that fucking stomach bug that's going around school. Vilde had it, and she said she couldn't keep anything down—”

“No Magnus, I don’t have a stomach bug.”

“Oh,” Magnus moves back to his previous spot. “Then you take meds to help you with something?”

“Yeah,” Isak says quietly.

“That's chill,” Magnus shrugs. “My momma does too.”

“Really?” Mahdi asks, passing the joint to him.

“You knew that,” Magnus reminds, “she’s bipolar.”

“I’m schizophrenic,” Isak blurts.

Both boys turn to look at him.

“That's why I take medications,” he continues quickly, “because I’m schizophrenic.”

Magnus blows out a puff of smoke, tugging one shoulder up into a lazy shrug. “Okay.”

Isak wets his lips nervously, “Okay?”

“Did you think we’d care, bro?” Mahdi questions. “If you're feeling healthy and good, then everything is fine.”

“I am,” Isak says, his throat tight with the overwhelming emotion he’s feeling. There’s nothing more comforting than being accepted by some of the people who mean the most to you.

“Did I tell you about Ana?” Magnus asks after a moment of silence. “We hooked up at this party in April, right. She had vampire teeth, I swear.”

“Like the plastic kind you get at Halloween?” Mahdi wonders.

“No, fuck,” Magnus laughs. “Real fucking fangs, bro. I thought she was going to bite my dick off.”

And just like that, things are the way they used to be.

-

ii. eskild

Eskild wishes he could say that walking in on Isak standing on his bed with a can of paint and a paintbrush in either hand was the weirdest thing he'd seen while living at the kollektivet. Unfortunately, Lynn went through an extremely kinky phase a few years back that had left him scarred for life after opening the wrong door at the wrong time.

He stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he watches the peculiar scene unfold. Isak hasn't noticed him yet, and he's really half-tempted to leave the room and pretend he never saw anything at all. He's admittedly curious though, so he stays put.

"Isak?" He calls softly. "If you wanted to redecorate, you should have just said."

Isak tenses, his grip on the paint brush tightening. His knuckles turn white with the obvious force. "I'm not redecorating. I'm fixing something."

"Okay." Eskild leans his shoulder against the doorframe. "Fixing what?"

Isak sets the items in his hands down, and slowly moves so that he's in a sitting position on the bed instead. He clears his throat. "I might have drawn on the walls."

"You might have drawn on the walls?" Eskild repeats, entirely unamused. "You're not a toddler, Isak. I don't understand how you think I'll believe you accidentally drew on the wall."

"Eskild—"

"I'm not upset with you," Eskild raises his palm to silence him. "I'm really not. I only want honesty between us. I want you to feel comfortable reaching out to me when you need something."

"You don't mean that," Isak blurts.

"I do mean it," Eskild insists. “We’re friends, and friends should be open and comfortable with one another.”

Isak’s eyes flick between the wall and Eskild warily, like he can't quite decide how much to share. Finally, he says, “They were markings, not drawings.”

“Markings?” Eskild asks slowly.

“To ward off spirits, or demons, or whatever,” Isak clears his throat.

“You think there are spirits and demons in your room?” Eskild pauses. “We could burn some sage, isn't that what people do?”

“Fuck, no, it's not–” Isak exhales. “It's not like that.”

“Okay,” Eskild says patiently, “then what is it like?”

“It's more impulsive. I didn't have a choice.”

“Alright, so it’s more like when Noora decided that she needed to clean every wall in our apartment,” Eskild nods. “Do you need help repainting?”

Isak’s lips part slightly, clearly surprised that Eskild isn’t pushing the matter. “You're not going to ask me to explain more?”

“You're a big boy, Isak. You don't need to explain everything to me,” Eskild shrugs, making his way over to pick up the paintbrush. “But your wall is going to look dreadful if you don't paint in the same direction.”

“What?”

Eskild dips the brush into the paint, pointedly doing a few even up-and-down strokes. “ _This_ is how you paint. Neatly.”

Isak sits, watching him with a stunned expression on his face.

“Isak,” Eskild sighs dramatically. “Don't be so lazy. Stand up and help me.”

“Lazy?” Isak repeats, not moving from his spot on the bed.

“Fine, don't help,” Eskild glances over his shoulder, “but don't expect me to share any of my double chocolate cookies the next time I make some.”

He turns back to the uncovered markings, admittedly studying them as he slowly paints. Some are scribbles while others are a blend of shapes, but there’s one that catches his eye in particular.

Frankly, it’s horrifying. He can’t even tell what it's supposed to be depicting, but the colors and the texture and the frantic way it’s splattered against the original white of the walls unnerve him more than he would like to admit. It truly scares him that Isak, his precious Isak, could have created something that seems so evil.

The paintbrush goes slack in his hand, clattering to the floor. He can feel his heart starting to race, but the fear feels so misplaced because this is _Isak_. Isak, his baby gay, who—as grumpy as he might be—is soft at heart.

“Isak?” He asks faintly, turning around cautiously. “You're not part of a cult, right?”

“What? No,” Isak says quickly, eyes widening slightly. “Why do you think that?”

Eskild gestures helplessly toward the wall, “I know I said you don't have to explain to me, and you don't, but these… things… are a little intimidating.”

He doesn't want to push Isak, but he also wants to make sure he's not housing a criminal.

“They’re from a hallucination,” Isak explains hesitantly. “I get them sometimes. It's part of my, uh, schizophrenia.”

Eskild blinks dubiously, trying to cover his surprise. “Right. Well, then, that's alright.”

“You're not scared?” Isak questions, voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Isak. I’m not scared of you,” Eskild assures gently. “It’d take a lot more than a little drawing on the wall or a diagnosis for that.”

“Eskild?”

Eskild hums softly.

“I love you.”

He pauses. He’s known Isak for a while now, but never has the younger boy said those three words. They send an instant warmth spreading throughout his chest, a medley of pride and pure elation.

But he knows better than to show those feelings to Isak. Making a big deal out of it will only scare him off, and that’s the last thing Eskild wants to do when he’s finally gotten him to open up.

“I love you too, baby gay,” he says, flicking a bit of paint toward him. “Now get up and let your guru teach you more about proper painting techniques.”

-

iii. pappa

**Isak**

_are you busy? i'd like to talk to you if you have a few minutes to call_

**Pappa**

_Is it important?_

**Isak**

_some people would say that anything their son needs to tell them is important_

**Pappa**

_Don't start with that ridiculous attitude, Isak. I won't bother calling you if you're going to behave that way._

_When are you going to grow up? I told you about Ellie months ago, and you haven't bothered calling to arrange a meeting with your future step-mother. Now you're acting as though I don't pay your rent every month._

_Be grateful._

**Isak**

_fuck you_

**Pappa**

_You're talking like a crazy person. Like your mother, for that matter. You should think about what that means._

**Isak**

_you know what? you're right_

_i'm fucking insane_

_i'm exactly like mamma_

_i have schizophrenia. that's what i wanted to tell you_

_and i won't let you wreck me the way you wrecked her_

_[Your previous message could not be delivered due to a blocked server. If you think this is a mistake, please try again.]_

_-_

iv. eva

“Can I speak with you?”

Eva sighs, not moving her gaze from the inside of her locker. “I don't want to speak with you, Isak.”

“I know that,” he says, voice small. “I’d like to have a chance to explain, though.”

“You want to explain?” Eva lets out a bitter laugh, shoving her textbook inside. She slams her locker shut, turning to face him at last. “That's rich.”

“Eva–”

“Do you understand how badly you hurt me?” She asks, tears already stinging the backs of her eyes. “You were one of my best friends, and you made my life hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Isak whispers. The worst part is that he looks like he means it.

Eva takes a deep breath, trying to recompose herself. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that I didn't see you for the snake that you were before you could bite me.”

“Eva–” Isak tries again.

“I already said that I don't want to speak with you!” Eva snaps. “You need to accept that and give me my space.”

“ _Halla_ , Eva,” comes a new voice from behind her. “Could I maybe speak with you if you don't want to talk to Isak?”

Eva looks over her shoulder, and notices Even standing just a few feet back. She doesn't know how long he’s been there, but her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

She knows that she’s not being fair by refusing to speak with Isak. He's clearly sorry, and she can only assume he wants to apologize again, but she’s still bitter—and with good reason. She shouldn't have to give him another chance after he stabbed her in the back.

But the look that Isak’s boyfriend has makes her chest tighten with guilt nonetheless.

“Even,” she forces out. “Sure, we can talk.”

“Great,” Even smiles. “Let’s walk?”

“All of us?” Eva asks warily.

Even shakes his head, meeting Isak’s gaze over her head. “Wait by our bench, alright?”

“Alright,” Isak agrees meekly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He watches the two of them for another moment, before finally turning on his heel and walking the opposite way.

“If you're expecting to make me feel sorry for him, you won't,” Eva says, though she knows it's a lie. She’s always had a soft spot for Isak, and even underneath all the anger and hurt, she knows it's still there.

“I don't want to make you feel sorry for him.”

“Then what is this about?” Eva purses her lips.

“I want to help you understand him,” Even says softly, starting to walk. “He's a complex person.”

Eva snorts. “Isak? Isak Valtersen is complex?”

“Do you not think of him that way?” Even asks, genuinely curious.

“Isak was always an open book,” Eva says with a shrug. “He spoke his mind, even if his opinions weren't the most popular. He speaks a lot without thinking in general, for that matter.”

“So you think that means he's not a complex person?”

“I think that part of the reason people are so interested in him is because he knows how to seem more complex than he really is.”

Even stops walking, staring at her for a few moments. “You think it's about attention for him?”

“Isak was never a popular kid when we were younger,” Eva says. “He was average, but not popular. And now all of a sudden, because he did something crazy, he's popular.”

Even visibly winces at the use of the word. “You shouldn't say that about anyone. It's offensive.”

“Crazy is an offensive term? Seriously?” Eva rolls her eyes.

“To someone with bipolar disorder, yeah,” Even says. It's the first time he’s sounded annoyed during their conversation.

She feels like an asshole. “Shit. I’m sorry, Even. I didn't know.”

“You didn't know,” he agrees, “and that's the point.”

“I’m so lost,” she admits. “I don't understand what you're trying to say.”

“Here's the point;” Even says, looking right into her eyes. “You never know what someone is going through. You never know how complex they are. You never know whether or not their actions are a cry for help instead of attention, or if they're something that they have entirely no control over.”

Eva fiddles with the strap of her backpack uncomfortably, but doesn't dare look away.

“Sometimes people hurt one another,” he continues softly, “but there's a reason we have second chances. It's not always easy to be the bigger person, but maybe it's the right thing to do.”

“He burned me bad,” she whispers.

“He burned a lot of things,” Even cracks a small smile, “no pun intended. But he's trying to mend them now, and I think that should count for something.”

“Do you even know what he did?” Eva asks, the words like venom. “He fabricated these lies about me. People were saying awful things—bullshit rumors—”

“I know about rumors,” Even assures, “and I know that they suck.”

“Then you should understand why I have no interest in talking to him,” Eva says, lifting her chin up.

“Have you heard the rumors about him?”

Eva falters. “It's different when they're true,” she says, knowing how hypocritical she sounds.

“It is?” Even asks, tilting his head slightly. “I didn't realize that when rumors are true, it makes them hurt any less.”

“Well–”

“I know you're not friends with him anymore,” he says, “and I know you owe him nothing. But I really think you should give him a chance to explain himself.”

Eva sighs. “You're only saying that because you're his boyfriend. You're biased.”

“I might be,” Even agrees as they step outside, “but I also wouldn't be his boyfriend if he were a bad person.”

Eva lets out a breath. “You really think I should talk to him? Would you talk to someone who hurt you?”

“My best friend hurt me pretty badly,” Even says softly, “and talking to him about it was the best decision I ever made. I explained things, and so did he, and now we’re working on our friendship again. Real friends give second chances.”

Eva thinks back to her late night FaceTime calls with Isak before Nissen. She remembers the summer days—prior to her and Jonas getting together— that the three of them spent at her lake house.

She misses it, misses _him_. She didn't only lose her boyfriend amidst the vicious rumors; she lost her best friend too. Even with her girls by her side supporting her through it all, they could never fill the Valtersen-sized void in her heart.

“I won't agree to giving him a second chance,” Eva says eventually, “but I’ll talk to him. I deserve to know what happened.”

“You do,” Even agrees. “Hear him out, okay? This isn't easy for him.”

“It's not easy for me, either,” Eva mutters.

“Give him a chance,” Even repeats, “he may surprise you.”

That’s how she finds herself on the bench, sitting next to the same boy she swore she’d never speak to again.

“It’s, uh,” Isak coughs, “a nice day, isn't it?”

Eva stares blankly at him. “I’m not in the mood for small talk, Isak.”

Isak winces, but nods, like he knows he deserves it. “I want to tell you I’m sorry. Everything I did last year, it wasn't right.”

“No,” she looks back toward the school, “it wasn't. You fucked me over in the worst kind of way.”

“I never meant to,” Isak whispers. “You were my best friend, I would never intentionally hurt you.”

“You expect me to believe that you _didn't mean_ ,” she says those two words in a terrible imitation of him, “to spread rumors about me? To stab me in the back? To wreck my relationship?

“I’m uh, I’m schizophrenic Eva,” he whispers, unshed tears filling his eyes.

“You're—what?” The anger that had been brewing in her chest immediately vanishes. “What do you mean you're schizophrenic?”

“I mean that I have fucking… delusions and hallucinations,” he gestures through the air, “that put fucked up ideas into my head. I take antipsychotic medications so I don't do shit like set the school bathroom on fire.”

“Again,” Eva blurts before she can stop herself.

Isak nods grimly. “Again.”

“That sucks,” Eva says quietly.

“It does,” Isak nods in agreement. “Especially when I have an episode at school and someone turns my delusions into shitty gossip..”

“Delusions?”

“They’re like—ideas instead of hallucinations,” he explains. “You think they're completely real, and yet they're not.”

“That’s what happened?” Eva murmurs. “You had a delusion and someone overheard?”

“I thought that you were married to Jonas. You were both millionaires living in Amsterdam, and you were having an elaborate affair with Penetrator Chris.”

“And that's where the rumor that I was cheating on Jonas came from,” Eva realizes.

“I never meant for things to turn out the way they did,” Isak says, “I promise.”

“I believe you, Isak,” Eva pauses. “Do you want to go get something to eat, maybe? We could catch up a little.”

“That sounds nice,” Isak doesn't even need to think before agreeing.

-

v. sana

Sana likes Even. She might not show it, but the boy who had once been close with her brother and his friends had come to have a soft place in her heart.

So although she respects his decision to date Isak Valtersen, she’s not going to act happy about it. She’s protective over the people she cares about (not that she would ever admit to caring) and she knows that Even tends to put his entire heart into everything, which makes him vulnerable to fall victim to the human tornado that is Isak Valtersen.

They’re studying in the library together, and she’s trying to read her textbook while Even rambles on about his boyfriend.

 _Boyfriend_. She can't help but scoff just imagining Isak doing anything remotely romantic. He’s many things—brash and shameless, to name a few—but he's certainly not the soft, gentle guy that Even deserves.

“—he’s so intelligent, you know? He’s not even in class most of the time, and yet he has all this information stored up here,” Even taps two fingers gently against his temple, sighing fondly. “I really love him.”

“Love him?” Sana raises a brow.

“Yes,” Even says boldly. “I love him.”

“Did you know that less than 2% of married couples are high school sweethearts?” Sana asks, the judgement obvious in her voice.

“No,” Even shrugs. “That's an interesting statistic, though.”

“I’m only pointing out that you might not love him,” she carefully closes her textbook. “Maybe you only think you do.”

“Sana,” Even smiles, “I love him. And I know that you're worried about me–”

“I’m not worried about you,” Sana lies, “I’m simply sharing the factual side of things.”

“Right. Well, although I appreciate that, I’m very happy with him.”

Sana purses her lips, not bothering to keep the judgemental look off of her face. “Isak doesn’t care about anyone.”

“I care about him, and he cares about me. That’s how relationships work,” Even taps his pencil lightly against the table. “Does anything else have to matter?”

“Sometimes,” Sana says curtly, “we need to put our hearts aside and listen to our heads. All the signs point to your boyfriend being a diagnosable sociopath.”

“That’s an assumption,” Even says, his fury finally leaking through, “based on bullshit rumors you've heard. It's—it’s mean, really.”

“I’m trying to be your friend.”

“Yeah well, maybe you should have been his too.”

“Isak Valtersen and I were never friends,” she retorts hotly, but she can feel the weight of the lie on her chest.

“You should have told him that, then,” Even murmurs, “because he certainly thought a lot of you.”

-

She can’t get the conversation between her and Even out of her head. It’s all she can think about during her prayers for the following days. The guilt is so suffocating that she finds herself seeking Isak out, if only to understand why Even had such rage behind his words.

“Isak,” she says, sitting down beside him in biology before Even can take his usual seat.

“Sana?” Isak’s brows furrow. “What are you doing?”

“I want to know what your intentions are with Even.”

“My intentions?” Isak blanches. “I mean… I’m dating him. I’m not exactly trying to marry him right now, if that’s what you're asking.”

“I’m asking if you plan to turn your back on him the way you turned your back on Eva and Jonas,” she says boldly. “Friends don't fuck over friends.”

Isak’s eyes trail down to the notebook on his desk, then back up to Sana. “I talked about this with them already.”

Sana crosses her arms.

“I did,” he insists, eyes desperate. “I would never hurt Even, or anyone else on purpose. I’m not like that.”

“I used to think you wouldn't,” Sana shrugs. “But then you did.”

Isak lets out an almost inaudible sigh, glancing around the classroom. Finally, he takes a deep breath and whispers, “I have schizophrenia. I wasn't on meds, and I did some fucked up shit. I’m all good now, though.”

Sana doesn’t reply. Her chest seizes, and the air around her suddenly refuses to enter her lungs. She can’t bring herself to look at Isak because oh, she wasn’t expecting this. She called him a sociopath, and now this.

She got it wrong. She never gets it wrong, but this time she got it so so wrong. The idea panics her more than she would like to admit. Her facts, her consistency, all of it keeps her stable, and without them she feels completely lost.

“Sana?” Isak is watching her with a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps.

Isak falls silent for a beat, and then says, “It helps if you focus on an image.”

“I don't need your input,” she grunts, which is as close to a thank you as she’ll give.

But it does help. Soon her breathing evens out again, and the tension that once consumed her dissipates. She rolls her shoulders a few times, looking at Isak again.

She leans closer to him and quietly says, “I have anxiety. You have schizophrenia. We all have our vices.”

Isak’s lips tilt up into a smile.

Even enters the room then, his brows creasing when he spots Isak and Sana sitting together. He reaches up, giving his ear a gentle tug when Isak meets his eyes. It must be some sort of code between them, because Isak subtly nods, brushing his finger across the tip of his nose.

It’s cuter than Sana will ever admit.

“ _Hei_ , baby,” Even says when he makes his way over, ducking down for a quick peck. Then he looks toward Sana, offering her a grin, “Sana.”

“You should take a seat before you wind up getting in trouble,” Isak reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You're one to talk about getting in trouble, Mr. I-Come-To-School-When-I-Want,” Even teases.

Then their eyes lock, and they both look so completely enamored by one another that Sana’s heart does a funny little skipping thing.

“I’ll see you after class,” Isak says fondly, letting go of Even’s hand.

“See you after class,” Even nods, moving behind them to find a seat.

“Hey, Isak?” Sana straightens up in her seat.

“Yeah?”

“You want to revise together for that biology test coming up?”  
  
Isak’s smile widens. “I’d love to Sanasol.”

“Don't call me that, Isabell.”

-

+1 jonas

It’s strange, going to Isak’s house now.

When he was younger, they spent every other weekend there. They would spend their time hidden away in Isak’s room, building forts from blankets and creating stories along the way. Some of his best memories took place in the Valtersen household, even if things were always a little off there.

He can remember being eight-years-old and watching Isak rush into the kitchen to stop Marianne from placing her hand on the stove. Eleven, and listening to the faint screams of bible passages from behind the closed bedroom, door. Fourteen, and pretending not to see the scribbled markings on the headboard.

It never made sense, is the thing. The Valtersen’s had always been a puzzle with no pieces that fit quite right.

Still, he never gave their quirky tendencies a second thought. He loved his best friend, and he didn't care that his family was… well, odd.

But going over there now, this is something that he has to do. He knows now why Isak destroyed his life and his friendships, and that nostalgia and brotherhood that still grips his heart is enough to force him to go to Isak, to help him get help.

He knocks quietly, offering Isak a hesitant grin when the door swings open. “Hi,” he clears his throat, “can I come in?”

“Sure,” Isak nods, brows furrowed. He moves aside, opening the door wider to let him in. “The rest of the boys won't be here for another hour. Even said he told everyone 18:00.”

“He did, but I wanted to speak to you,” Jonas steps inside, looking around the house. “I thought you were living with Eskild now?”

“I came back here for a week,” Isak hesitates. “Mamma got admitted into the hospital again, so. I figured I could get the house cleaned up a bit.”

Jonas nods, the weight of the bottle in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier. “You're okay though? With her being—there?”

“I’m okay,” Isak shrugs, starting up the stairs toward the kitchen.

Jonas follows him into the kitchen, he’s hit with a certain sentimentality. Everything is the same, yet nothing feels the way it did when they were younger. It's an eerie sort of feeling.

“So what did you want to speak with me about?” Isak asks, pushing himself up onto the counter. “I don't think you came over here early to chat.”

"We can get you help," Jonas blurts out, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

"Help?"

"There are places—treatment centers—"

"What the hell," Isak looks angry.

"You could die!" Jonas tosses his arms up. "As in dead! Gone forever! Doesn't that scare you?”

It terrifies him. He’s not as close with Isak as he once was, but he can’t sit back and continue to watch him destroy his life. They’ll always be brothers, even if they're not friends.

"Die from what?" Isak asks, genuine confusion painted all over his face.

"From the drugs!" Jonas snaps.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Isak yells back, eyes slightly wide.

"This!" Jonas digs the orange bottle out of his pocket, holding it up. "This is what I'm talking about!"

Isak leans in closer, examining the bottle. The prescription label’s been torn off, sticky white glue where the paper used to be. When he realizes what Jonas is holding up, his expression turns wounded. "They help me!" There are tears in his eyes. "Do you hate me that much now, that you want me to suffer?"

"I don't want you to suffer, fuck," Jonas softens. "Withdrawal is hard, but you would have support around you."

"Withdrawal? From antipsychotics? The only thing coming off of them will do is bring back all of my symptoms," Isak snatches the bottle out of Jonas's hands. "I can't go off of them."

"You take antipsychotics to get high?" Jonas blurts.

"I don't take them to get high," Isak spits. "I take them so I don't lose my fucking mind."

Jonas blinks. "You're not a drug addict?"

" _Nei._ I'm fucking schizophrenic, you asshole. Those are my medications."

"Your prescribed medications?" Jonas asks, relief clear in his voice. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," Isak says defensively. "Even now. I don't owe anyone an explanation."

"No," Jonas agrees, "you don't."

He can feel the guilt beginning to build in his stomach, watching Isak clench his fists, beginning to almost vibrate with anger.

“You're an asshole,” Isak spits. “You show up at my house, after not talking to me for ages, and you act like you have the right to tell me how I should live my life. As if I don't have the right to put anything I want into my body.”

“I wasn't trying to say that–”

“It's my choice. You don't have a say in my choices anymore. Don't you get that?” Isak cuts him off, tears brimming in his eyes. It feels like a punch to the gut. “Maybe when we were younger, and I felt like I could fucking depend on you, you would have. But not anymore.”

“Isak,” Jonas’s voice breaks.

Isak wipes the stray tears from his cheeks, sniffing. "All I wanted was for you to be there. I didn't know what was wrong with me, and I didn't have anybody."

Jonas swallows, shaking his head slightly. His throat feels too tight, and it's a solid thirty seconds before he can speak. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Isak. I should have been there."

Isak sinks to the floor, resting against the kitchen cabinet. Jonas follows him down.

“I’m here now,” he says quietly. “I know it's too late, but… better late than never, right?”

“Fuck off,” Isak mumbles, but it sounds like ‘please don't go.’

“Do you remember when we were ten, and we spent the two weeks of summer break trying to perfect our own chocolate chip cookie recipe?” Jonas asks, knocking their shoulders together softly. “It was after Lea went off to college, and you were devastated.”

“I remember. You called them your Instant Smile Cookies,” he snorts. “A pretty shit name, honestly.”

“I haven't made them in years now,” Jonas admits, “but I think I could still remember the recipe.”

Isak gives him an unamused look. “I don't need you to bake me cookies, Jonas. I’m a big boy now.”

“Well, I’m not going to bake you cookies,” he scoffs. “You're going to help me make them. We’re gonna do it together.”

“Together?”

Jonas wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Together,” he repeats. “I fucking love you, man. I’m so sorry for being a douchebag.”

“Douchebag,” Isak’s lips quirk into an amused smile. “I’d say you were more of an asshole, but. Douchebag works.”

They sit there for a while, just revelling in the peace that seems to have settled over them. It takes Jonas getting up and offering his hand to Isak to get them moving.

“Come on,” he says, “we have cookies to make.”

“So uh, schizophrenia huh?” Jonas says awkwardly. Isak grips his shoulder and forces Jonas to look at him.

“It’s okay to talk about it Jonas. I’m not going to suddenly have some sort of fucking breakdown because you mention it,” Isak rolls his eyes. “It’s chill if you want to ask questions.”

“Is schizophrenia what your mamma has?” Jonas asks. “I know she had… episodes, but you never mentioned if she had a diagnosis.”

“She has paranoid schizophrenia, which is a little different,” Isak says, pressing his lips together. “I have undifferentiated schizophrenia, with like hallucinations and stuff but no paranoia. I take my medications though, and she doesn't.”

“When you're off your meds, is that when episodes happen?”

“They can happen while I’m on my meds, when the dosages stop working or whatever,” Isak explains. “But they were worse last year, before I started them.”

Jonas nods. "So the whole lighting the bathroom on fire thing?"

Isak sighs. "I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know what was real and what was just in my head. I could see demons on the walls and all around me, and I thought that I had to burn them away."

"Shit,” Jonas breathes.

"Yeah."

“That sounds fucking terrifying,” Jonas admits.

“It is. It’s like a really bad nightmare, only you're awake,” Isak shakes his head. “It’s trippy.”

Jonas lets silence settle over them again for a moment, before he opens up a cupboard. “Let’s see if you have the ingredients for those cookies.”

“I don't even think we have chocolate chips,” Isak snorts.

As it turns out, they do. They have all the ingredients for that matter, which leads to them making a batch of Instant Smile chocolate chip cookies. When all is said and done, they have a giant mess, shitty cookies, and intense sugar rushes, but it's worth it.

A buzz from Jonas’ phone brings them out of their little world, and Jonas moves over to where he left it to have a look. It’s a text from Mahdi, informing them that they’re only a few minutes away.

“The boys are almost here,” Jonas says, looking up at Isak. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Isak smiles back at Jonas, his eyes still damp with tears—this time from raw happiness. “Yeah Jonas, I’m gonna be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> (tw for: discussions of schizophrenia and schizophrenic episodes/symptoms)
> 
> feedback is always appreciated :)


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